Like Father, Like Daughter?
by Laurendo
Summary: Laurel has been helping her father, The Chechen, with mob plans until she can leave on her own. But when her father's work mingles with the Joker's, will Laurel's mind become tainted?
1. Chapter 1

I do not own any of the Dark Knight characters, only the one I have made myself. [: Reviews/critiques are greatly appreciated. This is my first story, I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 1

Yet another day with the Maronis. My father and Uncle Sal were off on business, so I hung out at the guarded Maroni house with Salvatore's wife, Isabella.

After grabbing a shower, I settled down to watch a movie with Izzy. Technically, we're not related to the Maronis. But being at the top of the mob as we were, my dad and Sal became good friends and we treat each other like family.

Sal's house was nice. Much bigger than ours, but that's because he's higher up in the mob than my father is. It was fairly large and very clean. Unlike us, the Maronis had no animals. My dad kept a pack of watch dogs. He recently got a new one for me. I named my rottweiler pup Brody, and he followed me everywhere, including Sal's home. He lay beneath my feet on the spotless carpet panting. My aunt frowned at the animal in her home and I chuckled at her, which made her frown more.

A commotion at the door made my aunt quickly turn off the television and stand abruptly. The Chechen and Salvatore came crashing through the front door.

My dad panted out, "Gambol dead," with his heavy accent.

"What?" I knew Gambol wasn't as close to us as the Maronis, but my dad worked with him once.

As usual, Uncle Sal was completely calm, but a little out of breath.

"Were you running from something?" Isabella asked.

"Won't be problem no more," my father motioned to his small but lethal handgun.

"Dad, we should get going. Brody's getting hungry."

"Sure kid. Get dog and say bye to Sal."

I did as I was told and thanked Izzy for her company.

"Chechen," called out Sal.

My father turned around. "Ya?"

"Remember we have that meeting tomorrow."

"Course," my father nodded.

Turning, we left the Maroni residence, my father on one side of me and my panting rottweiler on the other.

Walking through the back alleys of Gotham, we finally made it to the locked up, abandoned looking apartment. We made sure the outside looked crappy so nobody would break in. We didn't have guards like Sal. We had our dogs.

Making conversation with my dad as we let ourselves inside, I asked, "So who killed him?"

My dad looked like he was considering telling me who it was. Finally he replied, "Joker."

"That psychotic clown?"

"You got it."

I made a small noise of disgust and unlocked the door. Brody bounded inside to try and stealthily tackle another guard dog. I heard his startled squeal and laughed. He'd failed.

Throwing the keys to my dad for him to lock up, I ambled into the kitchen to microwave some dinner. I'm surprised we're still living. He and I both can't cook for shit.

"So did you guys get that money stored away?" I called from the kitchen.

"The Asian took care of it," dad mumbled.

Nodding, I placed his dinner on the table and retreated to my room. I wasn't really hungry. I had some lunch with Izzy earlier.

I called Brody and he trotted over to his small dog bed in the corner, plopped down onto the soft material and let out a long snort.

I snorted quite loud myself from laughter. My dog was very dramatic.

A knock on the door caught my attention and my dad let himself in. "Laurel?"

"Hm?"

"You staying home tomorrow or you going out?" he asked.

"Either or. I think I might go out. Why?"

"Just wondering. I be at meeting with Sal. Make sure you bring pup if you go out."

"Dad, he's not a pup! He's almost two," I laughed.

Faintly smiling, he said goodnight and closed the door.

Amazingly, I hadn't adapted my dad's thick accent. In Chechenya he hadn't studied much English and barely spoke proper sentences. My Cheberloi dialect was only faintly noticeable, unlike dad's, which was thickly pronounced with each word. I grew up in Gotham since he moved here for the mob, so I abandoned my own former accent after staying here a few years.

Setting my alarm, I got into bed and drifted off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

**Definitely more Joker in this chapter. I'm writing up the next chapter, reviews and suggestions are appreciated. [:**

I awoke to the irritating buzzing noise of my alarm at 7AM. Skipping breakfast, I grabbed Brody's collar off the counter. I did my makeup in the bathroom to rid myself of any blemishes and surveyed my reflection. My own dark brown eyes stared back at me from the mirror. I actually looked a lot like my dad, except for the electric purple streak that ran through my wavy, dark blonde hair. Pushing my side bangs out of my face, I applied liner and put on cargo pants and a black tank top. I slid a switchblade into the side of my leather boot.

Grabbing my short trench coat, I stuffed my new handgun into the inner pocket and leashed up Brody to go out.

My father ambled into our small kitchen. "You go out now?"

"Yep," I gave a slight nod.

"You sure you don't want me to train dog?"

I glared at him. This is probably the third time he's asked me. He trains his dogs without any interaction. If someone wanted to, they could use our dogs as their own or even set them on my father and I if they knew the correct Russian commands.

"I'm positive. Brody's doing fine," I finished with a flat tone.

Dad shrugged and got his weapons together to go to his meeting.

I left the warmth of my home and stepped out into the crisp, autumn weather, best friend alongside me.

Taking the side streets instead of bustling through streets of citizens, I darted through the alleys that led to the abandoned tattoo shop.

On the way, I bought a slab of meat for Brody and carried it in a paper bag.

The dog tried to snap it out of my hands, and I sharply yelled at him. When he left it alone I gave him a pat for a job well done.

Dad barely touched his dogs, so they weren't emotionally attached to their master, like they should be. I was going to make sure I trained Brody right.

Once at the shop, I brought Brody to the back and gave him a training session. He went after some of the mannequins I'd set up a week earlier and retrieved my weapons when I "accidentally" dropped them. He was completely comfortable around gunfire now, due to how often I took him out to get used to the sound. Once finished, I threw him his reward and sat next to him while he noshed on it.

Halfway through his meat, Brody stopped chewing and perked his ears up toward the ceiling. Listening closely, I could hear movement and laughing from the building next to us.

Normally, I wouldn't have thought twice about it. But this laugh… it was deranged. It sounded completely disturbed and a little manic.

Listening closely, I barely heard someone say, "Now… where's the Italian?"

It definitely had to be mob work. "The Italian" was usually what people called my Uncle Sal. Although it was a pretty rude way to address him with how much power he had.

I pulled out my gun and motioned Brody to my side. Instantly obeying, he abandoned his meat and padded next to me as I checked out the warehouse next door.

Exiting the shop, I inched along the side of the crumbling brick wall.

Hearing something familiar, I furrowed my brows in confusion. As I got closer, I could faintly make out the thick words that belonged to my father.

Forgetting all my precautions, I ran into the warehouse, but what I saw made me stop in my tracks.

A tall man in a dark purple suit stood with his back turned to me, watching an insanely large pile of money burn to a crisp.

My father stood a little ways away, his eyes glazed over at the sight of all that money going to waste. I stood next to him and watched as well. I noticed he had three of our rottweilers with him.

The man in the purple suit half-turned and I got a glimpse of his face.

Gasping, I noticed it was the infamous clown. The center of the mob's attention as of late.

"Dad, what are you doing with HIM?"

The Joker went into a fit of deranged laughter and tried speaking, though he was out of breath. "Ohhh, the uh Chechen has a daughter hm?"

The clown quickly licked his lips and started to bite the inside of his cheek. "And a beautiful daughter at that."

He began to circle me. I clung onto my father and my hand hovered over my gun, which was now stuffed in the pocket of my trench coat.

The Joker continued, and looked at my father. "I might just uh… take her home with me," he concluded, licking his lips.

My father spat on him.

The Joker's eyes bulged and his hand hovered over his knife. Practically hissing at my father, he continued, "You can tell your men they work for me now. This is _my_ city."

My father glared at him as I clung to the sleeve of his leather jacket. "They won't work for a _freak_."

"A freak_eh_?" the Joker mocked him. "Why don't we cut you up into little pieces and feed you to your pooches, huh? Then we'll see just how loyal a hungry dog _really_ is." He was growling now.

I saw my father's men advancing on us. They were going to betray him. They were going to work for the freak.

Then again, what else do you expect of the mob?

Pulling out my gun in one swift motion, I shot two of the men and set Brody on the one that didn't have a weapon pulled out.

The two men I'd shot slumped to the dirty ground like rag dolls.

Brody was tearing into the flesh of the third man, and when the screaming died down and the man was definitely dead, Brody trotted back over to me, blood on his muzzle.

Dad had already ordered the dogs in a circle around us, and he didn't seem to have a gun on him.

The Joker just watched in fascination.

"Tight knit family, uh are we?" he asked a bit aggressively, licking his lips again.

Clinging onto my dad again, I winced when the Joker grabbed hold of my arm. Hard. He was pulling me toward the exit. When I resisted, he clocked the side of my head with his arm. That hurt. And it irritated me to the extent of reaching for the dagger in my boot and jamming it into the Joker's stomach.

Brody had already been biting at the joker's legs and squealed when a hidden knife popped out of the bottom of his dress shoes. The knife got my dog square in the face.

Hurting me is one thing. But my _dog_?

I growled and pushed the knife into his stomach deeper, getting so angry that the sides of my vision actually went red.

The Joker choked and stumbled backwards. I pulled my dagger out of his stomach and wiped it on my pants.

I yelled specific commands at the dogs and all three of them pounced on the Joker, who was hysterically laughing at this point, despite his injuries.

The Joker pulled out his gun and shot one of the dogs, which slumped onto the concrete.

I called the others off and turned to my dad, who was frantically searching for a gun. I handed him mine and kept my knife in the other hand.

Brody was still able to see, so the Joker must not have gotten his eyes when he was knifed.

"Dad!" I yelled. "Let's go!"

He nodded and we ran. We ran faster than we ever had in our lives, leaving the insane clown behind us. I could still hear his maniacal laughter ringing in my ears well after we'd left the warehouse.


	3. Chapter 3

I could already hear my dad snoring from the room next to me. I was a light sleeper, while he was quite the opposite. Not even a nuclear explosion could wake him up.

"Brody, lie down." My pup curled up onto his mound of blankets in the corner, laying his paw over a rawhide bone he hadn't finished.

Pulling on a pair of shorts and an old holey t-shirt, I climbed into bed. My eyelids felt like lead, I needed sleep desperately. Slowly, my lashes began to flutter and I fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

The sound of Brody growling made me pull back my blankets in annoyance. I groggily started to feel around for the light switch only to realize it wasn't there. Furrowing my brows in confusion, I rubbed at my eyes and sat up.

That's when I heard the smothered chuckle.

I pretended to not have heard anything and slowly reached under my covers to the farthest corner of my bed, where my knuckle dusters and fingerless gloves sat. I slipped them on under the blankets and got out of bed.

_Paranoid_, I thought. _You're just freaked from the clown encounter._

Just as I started to assure myself that it was just my imagination, my vision started to adjust and I could make out a pale white face against the darkness.

"Mother of fuck, you've got to be kidding me. Do you have a life?" I sneered at the clown who was crouched next to my dog, knife glinting in the sliver of light coming in from the open window.

He just laughed.

Sighing, I reached for my handgun in my top drawer… not there.

"Looking for… uh… this?" the clown chuckled, holding up my gun and waving it in my face.

I just glared.

By now, I was extremely irritated. I had the patience level of my father.

Jumping off the bed, I reached for my gun, and he took my left forearm and twisted it around. I gave him a hard punch to the stomach with my free hand, which sent him to the floor, groaning in pain and laughing simultaneously.

I grabbed my gun and held it to his head.

"Ah, a… uh… challenge," he licked his lips. "Good work beautiful."

"I'll kill you. Right now," I growled.

"Will you?" he murmured. "What will you gain?"

"Peace of mind. For myself and my father."

"Your… uh… father?" He started to laugh. "Where is he?"

His words took a moment to register. I pushed him aside and raced to my dad's room.

Feeling for my father's heart rate, I sensed the slightest thumping. I shook him, but he wouldn't wake up.

"God damnit!" I thumped the mattress and put my head down on dad's stomach.

I heard movement from my room. The clown was already getting up. I raced back to my room and shot him in the leg. He slumped to the ground, laughing.

"You think I wouldn't fire the god damned gun?" I screamed at him as he snickered, a yellow toothed smile plastered on his pasty face.

Running to dad's room again, I felt around on his dresser for his phone. Uncle Sal picked up on the first ring.

"Uncle Sal. Dad… hurt. Joker. I have him. Come now."

Uncle Sal made some sound of acknowledgement and disconnected, so I stayed with my dad until the black cars were visible in the lot outside. Two of Sal's guys were already inside.

"Where's the Joker?" one asked.

I pointed to my room.

They came back, confused. "We don't see him."

"Motherfucker, is this guy on steroids?" I got up, called Brody and started to go outside. The guys just stood there.

"Get my dad medical help or I'll get my Uncle on both your asses! I'll take care of the clown."

They nodded, afraid to displease the Maronis, and hauled my dad to the cars. I sprinted outside, Brody on my heels, and followed the all too obvious trail of blood from the clown's wounded leg.

I found him trying to climb an escape ladder on the side of a building not too far from my own. I aimed and shot at the ladder, which fell from its rusty hinges to the ground, Joker and all.

I yelled at Brody and he set off, pouncing on the Joker's fallen figure. He squealed and retreated, blood on his face from another surprise knife attack.

The clown was chuckling lightly, and I barely heard him. "Laurel, you're a CATCH." That sent him into another fit of laughter.

"How do you know my name?" He didn't acknowledge my question, and continued to roll back and forth on the ground in fits of laughter.

A black figure suddenly leaped from the top of the building.

"Oh wow, you're joking me. First this, now BATMAN?"

"Nice work," the cloaked figure said in a barely audible tone. "May I take him?"

I snorted. "Do whatever the hell you want with him, he's not my responsibility."

"C'mere Batty!" the Joker beckoned with a mocking smile from the ground.

I laughed, despite myself.

The freak's head whipped towards the sound of my snickers. "See you soon, beautiful."

I shook my head and started to turn.

The Batman knocked out the Joker and hauled him over his shoulder in one quick motion, then turned with one last look at me.

"Don't look at me like that. You owe me, whoever you are."

The masked figure slowly nodded and disappeared into the night.


	4. Chapter 4

I sat on dad's hospital bed, playing with the little remote control like a child. He hasn't woken up yet, but the heart monitor proved he was still alive. Uncle Sal was leaning against the doorframe with Izzy, and he had his guards on his and our properties back home.

Pets weren't allowed, but Brody came anyway. When the employees at the front desk saw the Chechen in a hospital stretcher, with one of the mob's top leaders trailing behind with his wife, their mouths were hanging too far open to notice the dog.

"Do you think he's going to wake up?" I whispered. Izzy sat next to me and patted my hand, while Sal told me the closest thing to the truth he could.

"I dunno kid. Maybe. Maybe not." Furrowing his brows, he returned his gaze to my father.

Someone on the far side of the room quietly let themselves in.

"Commissioner Gordon," Uncle Sal started. "This is not an appropriate time to warrant for my arrest."

I violently rose up from my seat and spat on Gordon's shoes. "You've come to arrest them in the _hospital_? Where my father is lying _unconscious_?"

"Calm down." Gordon was still in the doorway. "I came to see how he was doing. And to say thank you."

"Thank you?"

"Yes. I think you know why, even though he thanked you already. The Joker's been put in jail by the way. There's no need to worry for a long while."

I snorted. "Yeah, how long are you gonna keep him in there this time before he breaks out? Maybe 48 hours, give or take?"

Uncle Sal smiled at that comment, but mostly stayed silent. Gordon didn't really have anything to say to that. Probably because he knew it was true. Last time, the clown was barely caged for 24 hours.

Gordon thanked me again and took his leave. I decided not to spit on his shoes this time around as he walked out.

Sal looked confused. "Thank you for what?"

So I told him the whole Batman story, leaving out the one comment from the Joker that had kept me up the past couple of nights: _You'll see me again beautiful._

I really hoped not.

Uncle Sal spoke, interrupting my thoughts. "It's about time the Bat owes us a favor."

Izzy and I nodded, and we all resumed watching my father, waiting and hoping for a miraculous recovery.

The next few days went by pretty slowly. It was lonely around the house without dad. My days consisted of taking care of the other dogs, visiting the hospital, and training Brody in our usual spot. I visited Uncle Sal too, but he was never home, and Izzy kept begging to take me for a manicure.

"It'd make you feel better," she prodded.

I snorted. "Iz, I really don't think so." I'd never had one, and never will. Dad had taught me at a young age: Never pay for something if you can do it yourself. So my nails were painted black. They were chipping, but I hadn't paid for them.

After what seemed like years of moping around my crappy old shack and the Maroni residence, he finally woke up.

It was on the fifth day. We got a call from the hospital, and Uncle Sal personally drove, which he never did, just so we'd get there to see my father.

I raced to his room; combat boots slamming against the tile, and jammed open his door.

The Chechen's head turned and he gave me a weak smile. "Kid," he managed to grunt.

I never cry. Never. But for the first time in a long time, I felt an unnatural tear slide down my cheek. Quickly wiping it away, I replied, "Hey dad."

"How you doing kid?" He was trying to lift his head off the pillow. Uncle Sal made it to the room and came around to the other side, sitting down with Isabella.

"You're really asking _ME_ how I'm doing?" I laughed, asking him the most important question: "How are _you_?"

"I pretty good," he replied, struggling to sit up.

"Dad, just lie down and take a nap or something," I laughed.

He scowled. "NOT taking a nap." He lay back on the cushiony pillow anyway.

Uncle Sal lowered his voice, "What _happened_?"

My father tried to explain, his breathing labored. "I dunno Sal," he began.

Sal cut him off. "Was it the clown?"

The Chechen shook his head. "I no see the freak. I had dinner, hit sack, no feel good, and then I dunno what."

I froze. "You didn't feel well how long after dinner?"

"Hour or so," my dad shrugged.

I cursed under my breath.

Isabella put a hand on my shoulder. "What is it dear?"

"Poison," I sneered. "The one man freak show poisoned him."

Sal's eyes widened. "If he poisoned him, I doubt he intended for him to live."

"Shit." What could I do? I didn't even know.

Sal was just as shocked as I was. "Laurel, remember that favor the Bat owes us?"

"Yes," I managed to answer.

"I think this would be it," he said in a serious tone.

Springing from my chair, I quickly asked him, "Where do you think he is?"

"Use your instincts kid," Sal nervously smiled, probably afraid for how much time my father had left. "You're a mobber."


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry it took so long, I have AP art projects due soon, trying to finish them all. Hope you enjoy this, the next chapter's longer!**

Chapter 5

Sprinting through the streets of Gotham, my dog at my heels, I alarmed quite a few citizens.

How could I find him? He won't appear out of nowhere, even though he seems to do that pretty often.

_Gordon._

I ran at top speed to the station, blurting out Gordon's name the second I got to the desk. When nobody answered me, obviously realizing who I was, I pushed past security and ran to the back offices.

Unfortunately, the cells were on the way there. I heard him before I saw him.

"I told you I'd see you again beautiful."

My head whipped around at the sound of that voice, and I was clinging onto the cell bars before I could stop myself, trying to get to him in my fury.

"WHAT did you DO?"

He just cocked his head. "No clue _what_ you're talking about gorgeous."

At this point, his face was inches from mine. I shot my hand through the spaces in the bars and got a good grab at his hair, pulling while removing my other arm from his reach.

"What did you DO to him you clown? What did you put in his food?"

"Oh that," he made a simple gesture like it was no big deal. "It was his drink, not his food." He then went into a hysterical fit of laughter. I pulled his hair more, which made him laugh harder.

Between the laughing fits, he exclaimed, "Y'know, it took a lot of uh… willpower… for me to give him something that actually gave him time to live. I was uh, pretty intent on just killing him before I realized I could make bargains." He licked his lips, adding, "And you're about ready to make a bargain aren't ya princess? For dear old daddy's life?" He smiled. "Well there's only one way he can be cured, and that hospital doesn't have it."

I didn't want to play games, but I felt I had no choice. After all, Gordon wasn't here, and with no Gordon, I wouldn't be able to find the Bat in time.

Leering at him, I carefully answered, "What way?"

"Let go."

"No!"

"Then I won't tell you."

Sighing, I released my hold on his stained green locks. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a vial with clear liquid in it. I reached for it, and he pulled back, wagging his gloved fingers.

"Ah ah ah!" He chuckled to himself. "I told you already. There's a price."

"A PRICE?" I was at the point of screaming. If looks could kill, mine would murder.

Amused at my reaction, he decided to test me a little further. "You look even more beautiful when you're angry," he said with a smirk.

Flustered, I took a step back. "The price, clown."

"You'll have to meet me for some business once I get out of here. No complaints, no restraints. And I will get out. Very soon."

The look he gave me was frightening.

"That's the deal," he concluded.

After staring for another moment, I cleared my head and replied, "Fine. Deal."

The smile was almost as frightening as the gaze. He handed me the vial through the bars and in doing so, grabbed my wrist, pulling me up against the iron face first.

"See you soon," he breathed against my face. Letting me go, I almost stumbled onto the floor.

"If you can find me," I retorted, exiting the station, leaving him glaring at me through the bars.

All he did was let a short, sadistic chuckle escape his crimson lips as I walked away.

"Fucking freak," I muttered on my way out.

Not noticing until just then, I hadn't been disturbed by any guards.

_Where are they?_

My question was answered when I got to the entrance, dead guards in plain view, Brody panting happily next to a pool of shining blood. Shit, my dog was getting good.

Laughing despite the circumstances, I made it back to Gotham General as fast as I could.

Sal met me at the doors, and I ran to dad's room just as he started shaking.

Sal confirmed what had been happening. "He's been delusional for a while, and now this." His gaze flickered around the room. "Where's the Bat?"

"Explanations later," I replied, forcing my father's mouth open to down the mysterious vial. The shaking stopped after a few moments, and his eyes closed in exhaustion.

"Thank god," I murmured, slumping against his sleeping figure.

"What in the hell was that?" Uncle Sal looked dumbfounded.

As he was sleeping, I explained everything to Sal and Isabella.

"You let me know when he finds you," Sal started with a protective look, "And I'll have one of my guys ready with you to take him out."

With a smirk I muttered, "Sal. _If_ he finds me." Then realizing the full weight of his statement, I sat up with a glare. "Hey! I don't need someone to fight for me!"

My Uncle only chuckled, patting my head and exiting the hospital room.


	6. Chapter 6

**I went back and edited a few of the chapters if you guys got some crazy notifications. Realized I needed to add in some new information!**

**Sorry it's been so long since the last update, I'm getting serious senioritis, haha. I kind of cranked this one out during a period of laziness, so the next one should have much more action. Sorry it's so short.**

Chapter 6

Dad was in bed for a few days, red-faced and healthy, but still resting. I wasn't even going out much, except for Brody's morning runs. Sal's men have been bringing food over so we don't have to go out and get it.

Uncle Sal strode inside, taking me by the shoulders. "Hafta talk some business with your father Laurel. Go get your nails done with Bella or something."

And that is how I came to be sitting next to Isabella in a leather chair, a foreign woman putting shiny lacquer on my nails. Choosing a red so deep it bordered black, I figured a dark color would let me keep at least some of my dignity.

Iz was speaking to me, and I vaguely nodded my head after each sentence, hoping she wouldn't notice that I hadn't been listening to everything.

When the flashing television above honed in on Commissioner Gordon's face with a small picture of the Joker in the upper right-hand corner, I shushed Isabella.

"The search continues, but the Joker is still nowhere to be found. Elusive as ever, the convict escaped just this morning. More than half the station is empty, officers working together to find the criminal."

Isabella was looking right at me. "We need to switch up your appearance dear. Now that he's out."

Like that would do any good. Brody was a dead giveaway. Yet, I humored her.

She used Sal's credit card to dye my hair to a jet black. Chopping most of it off, I was left with a way head of shoulder length locks, the color dimmed drastically. She bought me a loose black dress that fit like a smock, even though dresses weren't my thing. But since they were the opposite of what I normally wore, I agreed to the purchase. I refused to wear any restricting fabrics and insisted I keep wearing my lace-up boots. An extra purchase of various forms of fishnets sealed the deal. To Isabella's horror, I tore holes in them to make them more comfortable.

"Different, Laurel," grunted my father as I twirled and grinned. Surprising myself, I realized I enjoyed the day out with Izzy.

Sal pointed to my new ensemble. "Good idea."

"Izzy's idea," I smirked.

He patted her shoulder and met her gaze. "Grazie Bella."

She smiled and looked down. It amazed me that although Uncle Sal was shady and Bella knew it, it didn't bother her in the least. "He didn't choose any pf the other women to marry," she once told me. "He chose me."

Once they left, I nuked dad some sesame noodles and started to clean out and load some of the extra guns in the cramped den. Hiding them under the cushions, I plopped down next to the dogs on the dirty floor and sighed. We needed quick and easy access to every weapon in the house.

Especially now.


	7. Chapter 7

**This one's longer. I think. :) ****Enjoy!**

Chapter 7

I decided to take a night out and enjoy watching the bay. It smelled grimy, but it looked pretty. Brody and I listened to the laps of the water and watched the city lights as I slowly delved into thoughts that concerned the conversation with my father I had prior to this outing.

"_Kid, you need adventure by yourself," he started._

_My brows furrowed. "Dad, what d'you mean?"_

"_Out on your own," he grunted._

_I sat on the edge of his beaten up armchair, bewildered. "But, who'll take care of you?"_

_He chuckled. "You no worry 'bout that."_

"_Yes dad, I do have to worry about that," I groaned._

_He chuckled again. "We talk later."_

Sighing, I scratched behind Brody's ears. He panted happily while I was thinking.

"Is this seat taken?"

Before the voice registered in my mind, I was whisked off my feet and into a pair of strong arms, my mouth covered by a gloved hand. Struggling, I heard Brody growl and get a good bite out of the perpetrator's leg.

I was dropped to the floor.

Crawling on the gravel, I grabbed Brody's collar and stayed behind him while surveying the scene. The Joker stood before us, breathing heavily, his makeup already smudged.

I acted before he could say anything else to me about the deal. Brody may be able to help defend me, but he's still in training. And frankly, I'd rather have him not get knifed in the muzzle tonight. I took a running leap off the railing and jumped with a last haphazard order to Brody to run home, which he grudgingly obliged to.

The Joker grasped blindly for me at the railing, but I was already over and plummeting towards the icy water in a pencil jump. I could hear his loud yells all the way till I hit the surface.

Reaching shore twenty minutes later, I grabbed a cab. The cabbie frowned at my damp clothing and sopping wet dollar bills, but drove on.

Once home, I was rushed through packing a small leather bag with little amount of clothes and Brody's dog treats. Finally pushed out the door by Isabella, I met my father, who stood in the driveway.

"Love you kid," he grumbled, mussing my hair.

"Love you too dad," I chokingly replied. "You know this doesn't mean you win the argument. I'm only gone temporarily."

He laughed, a hearty laugh I haven't heard in ages. "Go, kid," he nudged me into the waiting car, which was surprisingly being driven by Uncle Sal himself.

"Shit Sal," I exclaimed. "You're actually driving?"

He smirked at that, but peeled out of the alley next to our little shack, heading for his place.

I ran inside with the dog, grabbed at the phone, and connected with Commissioner Gordon via operator.

A gruff voice answered, "Hello?"

"Get me the Bat. It's Laurel."

"Meet us at the top of the station in one hour. Take the back stairs."

I disconnected, grabbing an extra bag of stuff I kept at Sal's. Adding some weapons and slipping on my dad's leather jacket, I said goodbye to Sal and Izzy.

On my way to the station, Brody panting beside me, I thought of what I'd say. Sal thought I wasn't fully protected in his home. He was probably right. And I didn't want them killed all because of me. So I had to find a secure hiding spot. The Bat would be the best to ask out of anybody.

They were waiting at the top of the station, as promised.

"Wow, you guys are pretty punctual."

"Your call seemed urgent," Gordon stated, his mustache bristling in the cold.

"Yeah, well Uncle Sal kind of dramatizes little situations. This was his idea, even though I still think I'd be safe back there with the dogs."

So I told them about the Joker's words, my recent little incident, and made it clear I would not meet him, whether there was a deal or not.

"He'll find you anywhere except one place," the Bat rasped. "Consider this my debt being paid."

"Where? I can just jump a random car and go."

Gordon seemed displeased with that last comment, but I think the Bat expected it. He just looked at me and walked towards the edge of the building, pressing a small button on his belt.

"You may want to follow him. Before he disappears," Gordon warned with a mustached frown.

I did exactly that, and the next thing I knew, I was blindfolded and in some sort of vehicle. The only thing that kept me from freaking the fuck out was the familiar panting in the backseat.

Nice. He even remembered my dog.

Finally, after flights of stairs and endless walking, I was allowed to take off the blindfold. I was in some sort of underground room, with practically no furniture and a very large computer. A gray haired man sat at the oversized keyboard.

"You have a guest Master Wa—" He seemed not to even want to finish the sentence. The Bat nodded, whispered a few things to the old man, and disappeared through the one doorway after entering a series of codes.

"Well," the old man began. "You may stay here as long as you like. I'm afraid you won't see too much of him," he motioned toward the now closed doorway.

"Who are you?" I asked. Okay, I'm not so polite, but I'd like to at least now the logistics.

"Alfred," the man replied with a small smile.

"Laurel," I introduced myself, then motioned towards the dog. "And Brody."

Alfred smiled, asking me if I wanted anything to eat, and went on his way.

"Oh, where can I sleep? I mean, I can take the floor, I'm just asking."

"The floor?" Alfred seemed appalled. "No, no. I'll show you to a room miss. If you'll follow me?"

I was shown to a guest room in the spacious house. Batman had a mansion… who could've guessed?

Brody lounged on the queen size bed while I changed. After hours of brain-rotting television, I left to go find the kitchen. I didn't know if I was allowed to roam, but I was starving.

After practically inhaling a pasta dish that was left out (Alfred was smart), I made my way back to the guest room. Not paying attention, I rammed into someone on the way there.

"Oh, I'm sorry Alfr—" Looking up at the person I'd walked into, I realized it was none other than the famous Bruce Wayne.

Holy. Shit.

"No you're not," I breathed. "Oh my god."

He looked absolutely terrified.

"Laurel," he began.

"Woah," I grinned, regaining my composure. "I won't shit talk, don't worry Bats." I flounced down the hallway, turning around to add, "I mean it. People in the mob may hate you, but my family doesn't after what you did."

Back at the room, I mulled this whole thing over. The man behind the mask was none other than Bruce Wayne. Interesting.

Of course it made sense. Of course Batman had to have an impossibly large sum of money to afford all his gadgets.

I was sitting in the guest bedroom, munching on potato chips as I watched yet more television. There was nothing else to do here. Sure, there were books, but hell, I don't read. Brody was out like a light in the corner. Alfred had made him a makeshift dog bed. He was a nice dude. Kind of like a grandfather.

A knock at the door startled me.

It was Batman. Without the mask. I'd have to get used to this.

"Laurel."

"Mr. Wayne."

We both started babbling at the same time. I began first, rambling, "I promise I won't tell Mr. Wayne, please just let me stay here for now, your house is really nice and so is Alfred and so are you and Brody loves it here and—"

He cut me off with his own gibberish, "I know you're apart of the mob, but you mustn't tell anyone, including your father Laurel!"

Everything was silent for a moment or so.

"I promise," I nodded.

To break the building tension, I added, "So, should I call you Bruce or…?"

He groaned and put a palm to his forehead, turning on his shined loafers to exit the room.


	8. Chapter 8

**To any die-hard fans out there, I'm sorry some of the events are out of order. I'm mixing them up so it'd make sense with this particular story. Enjoy this chapter; let me know how it is! I'll try and update again soon!**

Chapter 8

After a few months of getting used to Alfred's grilled cheese sandwiches and fancy salads, I started to see Bruce more often. I'd even met Rachel, who sometimes kept me company around the house while Bruce was at Wayne Enterprises working or out at night "working." Despite my mob history, Rachel didn't judge me. She and I automatically became friends, and she even accompanied Brody and I on the property when he needed to train. Afterwards, she threw him his new Frisbee.

We were getting lunch from Alfred after she got off the phone with Harvey, whom I didn't care for too much. That's okay though, because the feeling was mutual. He hates the mob, which means he _loathes_ me.

Bruce entered the kitchen, cringing at the dog eating steak on the tile floor. He had some issue with rottweilers, although he was always nice to Brody. He just didn't like going near him too much.

"Rach, why don't you and Laurel go out for some new clothes? Dog food too." He lay his credit card out on the countertop.

We both stared at the credit card, happy smiles building on our faces.

"And," Bruce added, "Dresses. Wayne Enterprises will be throwing a bash for Mr. Dent's new role soon."

My smile disappeared. "A dress? Bruce, c'mon! Can't I wear fancy pants or something?"

He threw me a warning look and I shut it.

* * *

Returning home, Rachel and I gave our shopping bags to Alfred, who insisted taking them off our hands and to the sitting room. Bruce wanted to see everything, including the dress, which Rachel chose (the only thing I got a say in was the color.) I would be wearing a black floor-length silk gown with a braided halter and a back so low; it stopped right above my butt. Rachel chose a gorgeous dark green gown with ruffles that continued all the way down to her ankles, where it gathered at her feet.

Bruce said the ballroom was already being fixed up and the event would take place tomorrow night. With a pat on my shoulder, Rachel left to check on Harvey at the office while Bruce and I shifted through bags, hanging up random garments.

"You're sure I can stay this long, Bruce?" I asked, hesitant as to my time limit. "I mean, I know you don't like dogs and I've been here for months…"

He put a hand up, silencing my next sentence. "Laurel," he started, "You've kept Alfred company while I'm gone, stayed true to your word, and helped out around the property. You can stay here as long as you need to."

"Thanks," I stuttered.

A few moments of a comfortable sort of silence passed as we hung up clothes. I broke it with the question that'd been haunting me since I got here.

My hands quivering around the wire hanger, I asked, "Are you even gonna catch him Bruce?" I surprised myself with how young and scared I sounded.

To my surprise, he caught me in a tight embrace. "I'm trying, Laurel. I'm trying my best."

"Mkay," I mumbled against his suit jacket.

He made me feel a smidge better when he said, "Criminals aren't complicated, Laurel. I just need to figure out what he's after."

* * *

The party was a big hit. Harvey was there with Rachel, and while she came up to give me a big hug, he stayed back talking with a few politicians. He clung onto Rachel most of the night, especially after Bruce arrived. His elaborate entrances always amuse me, although Rachel looked a bit ticked off.

I stayed with Alfred and Bruce most of the evening, shying at all the unfamiliar faces. They tried engaging me in conversations with a few handsome young men, whom I was polite to, but glared at the two older men for their useless attempts for me to find someone. I mean, what normal man would take me for who I am, mobster family and all? Certainly not any of these rich fellows.

One of them had just finished complimenting me on my dress when I spotted Rachel with no Harvey by her side.

"Thank you," I nodded with a smile. "If you'll excuse me?" Hurrying to where she stood, I noticed she had a worried frown plastered on her face.

"What?" I tapped her arm.

"Bruce just dragged Harvey down the hallway." She bit her lip and shifted in her heels.

My stomach lurched. "I have a bad feeling," I said as I rubbed my belly.

Right at that moment, Rachel and I jerked as the elevator doors opened, revealing an old man I didn't know holding a grenade. Two masked goons stood behind him.

"We made it!" the Joker exclaimed as he pushed the old man to the ground and strode inside what should have been my safe haven.

"Where's Bruce?" I hissed. Rachel only tightened her grip on my shoulder.

The Joker stormed across the marble floor, grabbing at peoples' champagne flutes and downing them in front of the frightened guests. He asked around, lightly smacking people, "D'you know Harvey Dent? Know where he is?"

Rachel and I inched towards the edge of the crowd.

The Joker now had a man's face in his gloved hands. He bit the inside of his cheek and said, "You remind me of my father." His knife snapped out of its holder. "I _hated_ my father."

"Okay, stop." Rachel released me and picked her way through the guests to face the clown.

The Joker dropped his victim and assessed Rachel, who was now in plain view. "Well hello beautiful. You must be Harvey's _squeeze_. And you are beautiful."

He circled her like a vulture, making even me feel violated. His gaze grazed the room, quickly falling on me and then ripping away to concentrate on Rachel again.

"Oh, you look nervous. Is it the scars?" He tried grabbing her face as she struggled. "Wanna know how I got 'em?" Finally getting a good grip as Rachel squirmed, he continued talking to her like a child. "_Hey_. Look at me."

"So I had a wife," he gently laughed. "Beautiful. _Like you_. Who tells me… I worry too much. Who tells me… I ought a smile more. Who gambles and gets in deep with sharks."

Rachel tried prying her head away, so he just held on tighter.

"One day, they carve her face. And we have no money for surgeries. She can't take it. I just wanna see her smile again. Hm? I just want her to know that I don't care about the _scars_. So, I stick a razor in my mouth and do this," he motions to the puckered scars at his mouth, "to myself."

Giving a bitter laugh and letting his knife get nearer to her face, he finished his story. "And y'know what? She can't stand the _sight_ of me. She _leaves_. And NOW I see the funny side. Now I'm always smiling!"

Rachel got a good kick to his groin, earning freedom as he let her go and clutched his stomach. Laughing, he straightened. "A little fight in you. I like that," he licked his crimson lips.

Finally, the one voice I'd been waiting for half the night. Batman practically growled, "Then you're gonna love me."

The Joker and Batman started fighting, the two goons joining in. I bolted to the front of the crowd, even pushing a couple of people down. Reaching Rachel, I tried tugging her out of harm's way, but she stood there like a frightened animal. I followed her alarmed gaze to the white-faced monstrosity heading towards us. Batman closely followed, the two goons knocked out on the glossy floor.

The Joker roughly grabbed Rachel by the waist and staggered to the window.

Batman stiffened. "Drop the girl."

"Oh sure," the Joker giggled. "You just take off your little mask and tell us all who you really are. Hm?" Sending a bullet flying through the glass, he dangled Rachel above the faraway street.

"Let her go," he growled again.

"Very poor choice of words," the Joker sniggered. He dropped Rachel through the open window, sending her out onto the roof, scrabbling for a hold on something.

Batman took a running leap out the window after her, following her screams as the Joker jumped out of the way.

Open-mouthed, I stared after them; barely realizing what was happening until a pair of sturdy arms grabbed me around the hips and lifted me up onto their shoulder.

Kicking and screaming, I struggled against my attacker.

"Shush, shush, shush!" The Joker chuckled at my screams. "Stop with all the racket! Y'know, it uh took me quite a while to find you. I didn't even know you'd be here tonight. What a treat! Now we can continue your uh… half of the deal."

"Where are you taking me?" I shrieked. I wish I had Brody. He was sleeping up in my room. He wouldn't even be able to get to the ballroom because Alfred had closed my bedroom door.

"All in good time darling!" Hysterical giggles filled the now-empty ballroom as he adjusted me on his shoulder and entered the elevator.

I flailed my legs, kicking up the skirts of my dress as he put me down in front of him, still holding onto my arms. I was sure his tight grip would leave bruises.

"Stunning dress by the way. If I were a billionaire letting you into my home, I would be forcing you into one of those things every morning!"

I kicked him.

Snickering, he didn't even bend over. "Oh my, we're going to have some fun!"

When I didn't answer, he yelled into my face, "AREN'T we?"

I just glared at him.

The elevator opened, and I tried bolting to the right out the sliding doors. He grabbed me at the waist and used the rounded bottom of his knife against my head, landing a blow to my skull.

The last thing I saw was his smiling, maniacal face before everything went black.


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you all for the reviews! They're really encouraging! I was debating as to whether I would add the Joker's point of view, but I did. Let me know how you like it! I may add in more of his personal thoughts in the next chapter and do so more often. **

Chapter 9

When I came to, I realized I was set up on a few thin blankets in a dingy room, curled up in a ball. The space smelled like it hadn't been cleaned in months. Used to waking up next to Brody, I felt a pang of loneliness without his repulsive pants wafting into my face. The drapes were pulled closed on the one window in the room. When I pulled them back, I cursed loudly, noticing the iron security bars spaced over the glass.

The door creaked open and a suit-clad Joker strode his way into the filthy space.

"Mmm. I see someone roused from their beauty sleep-uh." He popped his painted lips at the end of his sentence, adding an extra syllable.

I curled my fingers up into fists, feeling the bite of my nails creating crescent moons in my palms.

"What kind of _deal_ requires me to be here?" I raised my voice.

"Calm down sweets," he grinned. "You didn't exactly ask what uh deal you were getting yourself into…" Smirking, he waited for an answer.

"Fine," I pursed my lips. "What type of deal is this? What do you want?"

He shrugged. "I don't exactly think you have a ripe enough attitude adjustment yet."

"Excuse me?" I rolled my eyes. "My attitude is just fine, clown."

"Weeeellll… until your behavior inches towards… adequate, you'll uh stay here." He smiled a dark look on his pallid face.

"Fine. I'd rather stay here alone than have to look at you."

He went stone cold. I barely had time to react before he slammed me against the wall and turned my face against the plaster. Leaning in close, he breathed on my face, "It's not a great idea to disrespect me, sweet cheeks."

I spat on him, even with my restricted movement. That just resulted in more pain when he threw me to the ground. I went skidding to the other side of the room, my spine hitting the wall.

I'd underestimated him back home. He was _strong_.

Taking advantage of my one free moment, I pretended to lay slumped on the ground as he slowly lowered his guard and turned to leave.

I ran at him, kicking the backs of his knees and sending him down, where I sat on his chest and threw punches left and right.

He gathered himself and grabbed my incoming fist, knocking it to the cement floor. Groaning in pain, I tried punching with my other hand, which he caught as well. Rolling me over, he lay on top of me as I flailed.

"Shhh," he giggled repeatedly as his purple gloves stroked my face.

His leather-clad fingers came away damp. For the second time in my life I could remember, I was crying. My dog was gone, I hadn't seen my father in months, Bruce and Alfred were probably worried sick, and now I'm trapped with a murderous clown.

I rolled away from him and stood to look out the barred window. Just empty streets. Not one I recognized. I left my back turned to the Joker so he wouldn't see the dirty tears streaming down my face.

The slamming of a door led me to believe he'd finally left.

* * *

A few days had already passed, leaving me hungrier than ever before. I refused to eat the food slid into the room, so I only drank the water provided with the disgusting trays. A bedpan and old food trays were the only things present in the tiny room.

The hunger pains were particularly bad today. I'd gone almost a week without food. The plastic tray was slid into the room again and I grabbed it, not even bothering to remove the water this time before I threw it across the room. Mush splattered everywhere with broken bits of ceramic plate. Even throwing my food wasted too much energy. I crumpled to the floor, drifting into unconsciousness, only aware of the violent pangs of hunger echoing in my stomach.

* * *

I awoke to purple cotton and a splitting headache. My choppy black hair fanned out across the bed I was lying on. Sighing, I rolled over, only to flatten a piece of paper with inky chicken scratch scrawled on it.

It was completely illegible, save for the Joker card pinned to the top. I heaved a sigh, dropped it, and tried to figure out where I was now.

The room was okay. Musty, but better than my prior arrangements. I sat on a king size bed with a purple comforter, black pillows strewn about carelessly. There were little amounts of furniture except for a leather armchair with a wooden table next to it. Opening the closet, I found randomized suits, most of the jackets either black or purple. However, my eyes lit up when I saw there was a tiny bathroom. _With a shower._

I stripped out of my filthy week-old dress and climbed behind the faux glass door, letting the hot water pound against my skull. I shaved all the necessities, shampooed about four times, and thanked the almighty heavens that there was a bar of soap that didn't have a zesty male aroma.

Reaching for a towel, I wrapped one around myself, not even caring where it came from. Stepping out into the steamy room, I almost leapt right back behind the door.

"AHHH!"

"I see you're enjoying the amenities in my lovely room? He instinctively licked his painted lips.

"Yours?" I shrieked. "This is yours?"

"Uh… yes."

I pulleda Bruce Wayne and put my palm to my forehead. No use fighting. I was in a _towel_, for god's sake.

"Whatever," I muttered. "Just get out so I can put on my stupid dress."

"Didn't you read my note?"

I glared at him. "I tried."

He rolled his eyes, which looked obscene with all the dark makeup that shadowed them. "There's uh other clothes for you. I don't want you stinking up whatever room I throw you in."

"Gee thanks," I muttered, snatching a brush from his hands.

For once, he wasn't wearing gloves. Or a suit jacket.

I stared him down, motioning with my free hand. "Leave!"

"This is my bathroom."

With clenched teeth, I revised my order. "_Please_ leave your bathroom."

"Ohh manners!" He smirked and let out a sardonic chuckle while biting the inside of his cheek. "You invested in some!" Clapping like a child, he giddily turned on his heel and left the bathroom, a bundle of clothes in his place.

Groaning, I took them. Whatever they were had to be better than the tattered gown I had on. Sifting through them, I started smiling. Tight black pants, a man's baggy scarlet sweater, and a pair of flat suede lace-up boots. Comfortable.

Yet, the smile rapidly disappeared when I found what was hiding underneath all the comfy fabrics: A pair of lacy underwear with a matching bra, colored black with hints of deep purple. Snarling, I put everything on. My old clothes were blown to hell anyway. Fat chance I was putting those back on my body after a clean shower.

Instead of meeting the clown, I emerged from the bathroom to find a blaring television I hadn't noticed before. Amazingly, my name was coming out of the small speakers hooked up on the wall.

I watched the screen, my mouth hanging open. "If anyone finds her and brings her back, there's a generous reward. From the both of us." There's something I thought I'd never see: Bruce and my father were standing side by side. Dad looked worried and aggravated. Bruce looked infuriated. Brody randomly paced next to them, my father absently stroking his fur at times. The rest of his free time was spent looking off to the side and running his hand through his greasy hair.

Clicking it off, I flopped into the armchair. I needed to get home. Now.

* * *

I was restricted to roam only the one room. Again, I was left for a few days, but this time I ate the food. I needed it if I actually wanted to get out of here. Every morning I rolled out of bed, trying not to remember that the Joker had actually _slept_ in it, and did various forms of push-ups, sit-ups, and mountain climbers. I used his high towel rack that was attached to the wall for pull-ups. Luckily, I was light enough not to break it. As I came up for my last rep, all I could think of was my father's worried expression.

* * *

The Joker paced downstairs. He said he'd needed a deal, but what was it? He never planned. It was normally a good thing, but now the Joker wished he'd at least had some inkling as to why he needed the girl.

All the goons thought she was a plaything. In a way, yes. It was fun to mess around with her mind, jumbling her thoughts together and letting them crash to bits after jostling her again. And she was pretty. God, she had the looks. But she obviously hated him, just like her father and the rest of the mob. And he wasn't forcing her into anything like _that_. He may be cruel, but the Joker was above rape. So what to do with her?

Either use her or kill her.

But killing her would be a waste. Her fighting skills were beyond adequate and her absence was pissing off a lot of the mob, especially The Chechen and the Maronis.

Sighing, the Joker sat in the small kitchen of his warehouse, shooting one of his masked workers that took up space by the cabinets. Others quickly cleaned up the mess for fear of being shot themselves.

He needed time to think alone.

* * *

I came to a conclusion. He was trying to drive me insane. That must be it, right? The only people I saw were masked goons moving in and out of the room. They all had weapons and I had none. I had a pretty clear notion that they wanted to kill me, even if _he_ hasn't yet.

The pounding of boots against a stairwell caught my attention. I stopped my exercise and collapsed onto the bed, pretending to take a nap.

The door flew open, making a loud banging noise against the wall.

"I'm HOOOOMMME!"

Burying myself in the pillows, I pulled the comforter over my head, which resulted in his heavy body landing on my covered one.

I winced. That would leave bruises.

"Y'know," a voice right above the blankets whispered in my ear. "Ya really shouldn't put yourself in positions like this. Makes me uh… anxious."

"Little shit," I grumbled.

I got a punch to the side of my ribs. Groaning, I pulled back the sheets to meet a familiar yellow-toothed smile.

"That's better!" The broad smile he gives creeps me out. All the time.

"Ugh, what?"

"We're going on a field trip today sweets! Get dressed."

"I am dressed."

"I'm uh not having you recognized." A poofy black skirt with a tattered top was thrown haphazardly in my direction. As well as my old makeup bag from Bruce's penthouse, which he must've picked up during my state of unconsciousness while exiting the party.

He left, giving me only a couple of minutes to dress before he returned with a knife in one hand and a bottle of black face paint in the other.

"You are _not_ painting my face."

All I received in return was a dark look and a snigger as he waved the knife around, proving the point that I in fact was getting my face painted. Probably so people like dad wouldn't know who I was.

Fortunately, most of my face was left bare, except for around my eyes. Like his, my eyes were being thickly outlined in black, smudged at the borders. I learned to sit still after trying to smack his hand away and receiving a particularly bad cut on the arm.

When he was finished, he surveyed his work and watched me as I grudgingly applied black lipstick. Sighing, I turned to him and put my hands on my hips.

"Oh, doll. You're a CATCH."


	10. Chapter 10

**Thanks again for the reviews, they're really encouraging! This is really short, but there's a much longer one coming up soon that's already half written! Coming to sort of a turning point in the story, let me know what you think!**

Chapter 10

I stood with the onlookers in the large street, half-listening to the Mayor's speech over the sounds of bagpipes. Disguised, the Joker's men directed me to the crowd of people and told me to stay put, watching nearby with hidden weaponry. The Joker himself I hadn't seen since I got out of the car. He'd tormented me the whole ride here, giggling in my ear and roughly playing with my hair. When my patience ran out, which was more than a few times, I shoved him. That resulted in my face pressed up against the cold car window, my black lipstick leaving smudges on the glass as his goons laughed.

So I stood here like an idiot. With black makeup, heels and a petticoat skirt, I was quite noticeable. People shot me looks and I rolled my eyes, which probably looked just as ridiculous as when the Joker did it. Creeping to the side of a building, I bathed in the shadows. I felt more comfortable. No one was looking over here.

I sat there for over an hour, picking at my cuticles and clicking the toes of my heels together as boredom overcame me. I ached to leave, but all his goons were keeping close tabs. Every now and then a few would pass by me, checking to make sure I was still there. Just to unnerve them, I winked and flashed them a black-lipped smirk. Most scuttled away farther, but a couple actually smirked back, which made me laugh aloud.

Finally, the officers were called to attention. I stood and surveyed the elaborate formation, taking in the normalcy before everything broke into chaos. When the fuck that was supposed to happen, I didn't know. He wouldn't tell me. Hell, I don't even think _he_ knows for sure.

When one shot was blasted out of order, everyone panicked. Hollering and pushing ensued. The shot had gone for the Mayor, but knocked down a man who'd blocked him instead. There were randomized gunshots echoing throughout the entire street. Coyly looking around, I noticed the goons were gone.

_Yes_.

I kicked off my platform heels and pushed past shrieking citizens. Running close to the podium, I hauled myself over to sit astride a vacated horse. Its prior officer lay on the concrete, blood spilling out of his head. Digging my bare heels into the animal's sides, I pushed it into a full gallop, happiness singing in my veins as I came to the realization that I was actually getting away.

I turned the reins and headed in the direction of home. Dodging screaming citizens and even running some down, the stolen horse and I cantered past the podium. But, just as we were about to round the corner, the great animal's legs buckled. I screamed as my horse suddenly collapsed beneath me. Falling off, I landed beside an unmoving officer and stared to the side in shock. Someone had shot my mount multiple times in the flank and neck. Scrambling to get up, I was met squarely with a familiar face. Chocking, I realized the face belonged to a body, which was dead. And it was Gordon.

Sadness should have taken over, but I was glad shock overcame me instead. Getting up and balancing on my bare feet, I bolted along the asphalt through the crowds of people, barely feeling the sharp rocks digging into my soles. A hand roughly closed around my waist and pulled backwards until my back was leaning against the broad chest of a man that smelled of gasoline and aftershave.

The Joker's clean face stared back at me when I was spun around to look at him. Forgetting whatever I was about to do, my face went slack. Wait. His face was _clean_. He had no make-up on. None. The jagged scars weren't really that bad. Sure, they plastered a gruesome smile on his face. But they made you look at everything else. His brown eyes stood out since there was no black gook cloaking them. His chiseled features caught the shadows as the light started to fade from the sky. I could hardly believe that I was struck by my captor's terrifyingly handsome face.

Drifting back to reality, I yelped when he grabbed my hair and lifted me off the ground, his face constricted with anger.

"Don't. Ever. Do. That."

He kept his tight grip on my dark locks as he pulled me with him into a waiting car, shoving me against the window of the backseat. Again.

As we pulled away, I locked gazes with Harvey, whose eyes widened for a split second before the doors to his vehicle closed shut behind him. He was with a strange man, one of the men that the Joker coaxed into helping out this time.

I think Harvey had recognized me.

"What are you looking at?" The Joker wasn't holding onto my wavy hair anymore, but kept grabbing at my sides to unsettle me.

"Nothing," I muttered as he started to reapply his clown makeup.

* * *

The Joker sat in the leathery seat of the car, repeatedly biting the insides of his cheeks. Every time, Laurel moved, he'd shove her up against the window again. The Mayor shooting had gone terribly wrong, but at least Gordon was dead.

As he usually did, he had decided his next move on a whim. Not knowing even what he himself was going to do next was always thrilling. One of the main reasons he kept Laurel around was because she was similar. She never planned _anything_. Not the horse. Not her pathetic attempt to escape. He growled as respect grew in the pit of his stomach. Despite that respect, he still had to let her know he was her superior.

"Boss," the Joker was jolted from his thoughts.

The man repeated himself. "Boss?"

The Joker calmly took out his handgun and pressed it to the man's temple. "I was _thinking_."

The driver went silent and kept going.

They eventually made it to the warehouse, where the Joker decided to keep up his annoying behavior. He swept Laurel off her feet, delighted as she wriggled and scowled, ignoring her repeated orders of, "Put me down!"

"You're heavy," he lied as they reached the upstairs hallway, dropping her to the floor as he stood over her.

She gathered herself quickly and directed a burning glare in his direction, looking all the world like a warrior princess straight out of the circus. It made him want to do unspeakable things. Shaking his dirty green-tinted waves in a frenzy, he stopped her with a manic grin as she tried entering her familiar storage room.

"You'll be uh here tonight," he announced, leaning against the wall next to his door.

"Like hell I am."

"Shall I uh repeat it again princess?" He pulled out a gun and motioned with it.

Rolling her eyes, which he realized she came to do quite often, Laurel stepped through the doorway and into the Joker's room.

He smiled. She's so easily provoked. This would be fun!


	11. Chapter 11

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, including: blackmoon1209, Moonlight Calls, ****Madness is me, ghut, Royal shadow1, PureDarkMagic, and Trisha!**

**I tried making this longer, just finished my AP exams so I'll have more time to write. ****Thank you again for the reviews, they're wonderful!**

Chapter 11

The look in those black-rimmed eyes made me want to do exactly what I wasn't supposed to as the daughter of an accomplished mob member—run.

The Joker leered at me, slowly advancing, dramatizing his entire approach to undoubtedly make me more nervous.

"Why are you all the way over there-uh?" He pointed an exaggerated finger in my direction, popping his painted lips.

I decided to stop being a coward and act like my father's daughter, rolling my eyes and grabbing a pillow to put on the floor.

He laughed, clutching his sides as he doubled over in his purple suit.

I barely had time to register as a knife was thrown, embedding itself in the wall mere inches from my head.

Glaring at him, I uttered my first few words in a while. "Why did you do that?"

He just shrugged, leaving the knife embedded in the wall as he abandoned his suit-jacket on the floor and climbed onto his bed in his god-knows-how-old pair of pants, paint still smeared on his face. He patted the empty space next to him as I wrinkled my nose.

"No thanks."

Another knife whizzed past my ear, closer this time. Valuing my life, I scowled and climbed to the farthest section, turning over.

"Stop throwing knives and go the fuck to sleep."

For a second, I thought he'd listened. Then I heard him ask, "I was wondering… do you uh… miss dear old dad?"

Until the Joker came into my life, I never realized how much I loved my father. The sides of my vision blurred as I hurled myself at him. "Don't you _ever_ talk about him! Did you go _near_ him? If you did _anything_, I'll take those knives right out of the wall and slice you up into little bits!"

He roughly took my wrists and rolled on top of me, cutting off my air.

"You don't need to use all that strength to go get _those_ knives out of the wall. Why not use this one?" He pulled a switchblade out of his pocket, lowering it to my face, tracing feather-light patterns across my flesh. The light tracing was replaced with a deep cut that was slashed into my upper arm when I tried to break free for the umpteenth time. I held in my scream.

"Let go," I breathed. Sweat was trailing down my face, matting my bangs.

He went into yet another familiar fit of hysterical laughter, either carelessly or purposely letting his knife dig into the delicate skin of my abdomen. My control broke. I showed my pain and let out a scream of agony.

I shoved him off and threw his knife to the floor, rolling off the bed to get to the doorway.

My foot was grabbed and I was dragged across the dingy carpet on my stomach, my newest wound making contact with the fabric, which was causing involuntary tears of pain to spring to my eyes. I jerked around and kicked him in the gut, getting a growl out of him as he picked me up like a rag doll and threw me into the wall.

"_Never_ pick fights with me darling. I always win."

I didn't want to give up, but my head throbbed and I felt woozy. My whole upper body was pulsing in pain. Blood trickled steadily from the hem of my shirt as he watched me gasp against the plaster wall. The knife had made a terrible, gory mess. I slowly recognized that being thrown hadn't knocked the wind out of me. It was the steady pulsing pain mixed with the blood loss that was making it hard to breathe.

He let out a snort. "Don't be overdramatic, Laurel."

Hearing him say my name was almost as disgusting as the blood dripping off my bottom lip and down my chin. My breaths gurgled as I tried taking full amounts of air into my lungs, which earned me a look of alarm.

He must've just realized that eventually, playthings break.

I just hoped that I could be fixed.

Maybe if I went to sleep? I _was_ getting tired. If I just closed my eyes…

A smack to the face helped me regain my vision. My eyelids drowsily fluttered open to reveal a painted face working vigorously to patch up the bloody mess that was my stomach. My shirt was off, leaving me clad in a bra and my petticoat skirt.

Wait. I didn't even feel it come off.

How long were my eyes closed?

The gash began to sting. I yowled like a banshee, clawing at the floor as a bottle of clear liquid was poured onto my wound.

He growled at me. "Sit. Still."

I let out one more screech before the butt of his knife crashed into my skull, finally giving him his peace and quiet.

* * *

At some unreasonable time in the morning, I awoke to my own bellows.

Did I have a nightmare?

No. I'd just rolled in my sleep. Onto my front-side, which was now expertly patched up.

"I hate you," I muttered, wondering if he was sleeping.

"I uh, FIXED it sweetheart."

I stayed silent for a while, breaking it to ask, "Why?"

"Because I enjoy watching you squirm."

"No. Why do you do what you do?" I tried asking again.

He snorted and turned over. "Expectations. Emotions."

"What?"

"You could never imagine what people are willing to do in their last moments. Or the last moments of their loved ones," he spat. "It's pathetic, really."

"So why do you do it?" I was still confused.

"I just answered your question, doll-face. No matter how pathetic I think it is, a part of me can't help watching." The serious expression he had plastered on his face slowly stretched into a yellow-toothed smile that made the butterflies in my stomach tremble with fear. Once the smile reached its limit, he let out a loud laugh that reverberated from the walls.

I turned over to try and go back to sleep, wondering why he'd even patched up my wound in the first place.

As the days went by, the bruises lessened. I got an occasional one here or there to add to my collection when he knocked me down or something for trying to punch him. I just can't keep my self control steady when I'm around him. More than once in a day, I've tried to get him in a chokehold, waiting for his breath to stop. Yet, no matter how many pull-ups or crunches I do a day, he's stronger. He always knocks me off within seconds, right after I get a good grip.

Each day I receive a visit from him with a bottle of rubbing alcohol. He doesn't even administer it carefully. He just splashes it over the gash on my front, laughing as I cried out from how much it stung.

Regaining my composure, I asked him, "You can't afford Neosporin or shit like that?"

He feigned a frown. "Oh, I'm sorry princess. Would you prefer a change in the healing process? Hydrochloric acid maybe?"

I just groaned and let him re-patch it.

* * *

After rejecting a bag of rancid looking food, I was getting out of the shower when I heard the television from the bedroom. Putting on a towel, I hurried out of the steam-filled space to meet the Joker. He was sitting in his chair with his feet propped up, staring intently at the television screen.

I pretended not to notice him as I got out a pair of beaten up fishnets and a raggedy smock-dress. He muted the T.V. and watched me scramble to get my clothes together.

"Stop," I whined and he un-muted the program, rolling his eyes and turning back around.

Getting dressed in the bathroom, I grabbed the tube of black lipstick and put it on. A few days ago when I'd decided not to wear it, I received a new purpled bruise on my cheek.

"Laurel!" I heard from the chair. "Dent's on T.V." He was cackling happily, watching Harvey speak to the citizens of Gotham about Batman. He was a great public speaker, but I found it boring. He stood at the podium and droned on about the masked vigilante. That's all Gotham ever talked about. Batman, Batman, Batman. Bruce, Bruce, Bruce.

A statement from the television made me drop my tube of lipstick.

"I am the Batman."

The Joker reacted on impulse as I watched Harvey on the screen, who was now being led away by Gotham officers.

Grabbing my face, he smeared the now familiar black paint around my eyes. I grudgingly laced up my boots as he grabbed random knives to pocket.

The goons were already outside, talking to a garbage man. I waited with them for about five minutes. The garbage truck had pulled away and a tractor trailer pulled up seconds later. The Joker skipped out of the warehouse with a can of red spray paint in his hand. He sprayed an "S" in front of the first word, which was "Laughter."

I snorted. Child.

I was thrown into the back with the goons as the Joker took shotgun. I wasn't allowed to speak for a while. Great. Stupid fuck can't plan anything, so now I was bored in the back of a truck.

His men and I played cards and I won all three matches before their boss snarled into the back, "Shut up, all of you!"

I listened closely, palms against the floor of the truck.

The truck came to an abrupt halt as the Joker crouched under the passenger seat next to the old man that was apparently our driver, a large gun in hand.

The old man suddenly honked the horn and I covered my ears.

"Hey, you wait like everybody else pal!" A cop had appeared out of nowhere.

The Joker sprung from his hiding place and quickly sent one shot from his machine gun straight to the cop's chest, surprisingly not uttering a single sound.

* * *

Once he heard the satisfying thud of the cop's body on the pavement, the Joker immediately climbed to the back, practically sitting on Laurel as she wriggled for freedom. He laughed as the driver pulled away. He really had no idea what would happen next. He just knew they were following the vehicle that carried Harvey Dent.

Keeping his grip on a handgun, he scowled as Laurel got free and huddled against the wall. She rolled her eyes at him when he grinned at her, which made him erupt in a hysterical laughing fit. She was an interesting one. Her emotions had gone in circles for the past few weeks he'd kept her. She has fast-paced changed in mood, just like him—or she just knew how to hide her real feelings.

* * *

I was scowling at him, but I was actually thrilled. Dad never used to let me come with him on business, so I was enjoying the crime and violence before me. The mobster inside of me opened up, spreading through my veins as I fully realized what it was like to be on an assignment.

I decided to stop cowering and show the Joker that I was brave enough to be close to him. I scrambled across the floor and sat directly in his lap, earning a look of surprise and resentment. Instead of pushing me to the floor, he let me stay there, picking at the rips in my stockings and mumbling to himself. He cackled like a hyena when our driver took out a SWAT truck, sending it sailing into the water off the road.

Once we were in the tunnel with a bunch of GPD vehicles, he shoved me off and I went rolling to the other side of the truck.

He grabbed the side door of the tractor trailer and slid it open, leaning out as he used his first gun to fire countless bullets at one of the high security vans. The masked clowns scrambled to get the cardboard box containing the rest of their boss' weapons. The Joker reached for the next one, which was promptly handed to him. He shot once, tossing this gun to the side as it was proved useless. The Joker was finally handed a bazooka, which he carefully loaded and tried shooting as the truck went over a bump, barely hitting a police car. Using a second shot, the police car exploded, and I was filled with a terrible sense of satisfaction as the car went up in flames. I crawled to the side of the door, holding on as I watched the action with wide eyes. He aimed and pulled the trigger on his third shot, sending the bazooka directly towards Dent's van. Yet, it didn't hit the target. Instead, it hit the tail-end of the Batmobile, which was airborne in front of Dent's transportation as a protective shield. Our truck and the GPD van both screeched to a halt. The explosions had killed our driver, causing us to come to a violent stop.

Pandemonium. That was the only word that could explain things at the moment.

The Joker was screaming at his clowns, leaving them rushing for weapons. He climbed to the front in a frenzy, mumbling Harvey's name, and took the wheel just as the GPD vehicle was pulling away ahead of us. Pushing aside the dead trucker, he muttered, "_Excuse_ me. I wanna drive!"

He reached behind the seat to grab hold of my hair and half-pulled me to the passenger seat. I scrambled to the front, sitting beside him so my dark tresses would stay intact.

I watched him from the passenger side, listening to him rant.

"I like this job. I LIKE it."

I sank into my seat as I listened to him, staring ahead. The GPD vehicle was ahead of us still, and a helicopter was heading in our direction.

"Okaaay, rack 'em up. Rack 'em up, rack 'em up, rack 'em up!"

Two cords were shot diagonally across, connecting to opposite buildings. They brought the helicopter down in an instant, and it exploded in a ball of flames. I stared in awe as it's now disassembled parts hurtled over the GPD van.

The Joker laughed at the violence of it all, giving everyone chills. "WhoohahaHAHA!"

I let out an involuntary giggle. All the flames and explosions had put me in a good mood. I loved this. It was even better than mob deals!

The Joker heard the short laugh escape my lips. Keeping his eyes on the task ahead, he grinned. "Like what ya see, beautiful?"

I grinned back instead of giving him a legitimate answer. Because the scary truth was… I was having _fun_.

Our laughter was stopped short when Batman came rolling out of an alley, halting directly in front of the truck a little ways up the road. The GPD van had stopped up there too.

"Now _there's_ a Batman." The Joker's eyes lit up, glazing over with mirth.

"Oh you wanna play? C'mon."

Bruce kicked up his feet and drove towards us, going under and around the truck instead of hitting it.

One of the Joker's men yelled, "He missed!"

A split second later, the truck lifted up off the asphalt.

_This is it. I can't believe this is how I'm going to die._

I was grabbed right before that upside-down sensation took place in my belly. Someone was completely on top of me, curling around my body in a ball.

I heard the impact of the truck hitting the cement, but I didn't feel much of it. The man curled around me let out a loud grunt as he took most of the impact.

Finally, there was silence. Everyone was rushing to get out of the truck. My rescuer unwrapped himself from my body and gave me a quick glance before falling out the side door. The Joker.

I fell out after him, laying on the blacktop as he stumbled on his gun, firing off a few accidental bullets in the process. He stalked down the street, mumbling and shooting at cars to get them out of his way.

Batman was on his motorcycle, driving at top speed. Right for the Joker.

_No. Bruce wouldn't do that. He wouldn't._

I watched in fascination as he Joker bellowed, "HIT ME!"

But Bruce didn't. I knew he wouldn't do it. He swerved to avoid his enemy, crashing and falling off down the road.

The Joker skipped over, tugging me with him. For once, I didn't complain. Half of me was engrossed by the action, the other half concerned. I needed to see if Bruce was okay.

He linked arms with me, mumbling as he partly-skipped along the empty street.

One of his clowns tried touching Bruce's mask. He was awarded with an electric shock, which sent him flying backwards.

I laughed, despite myself. So did the Joker. It was a laugh that I now heard for only the second time. Completely careless and filled with raw amusement. "WhoohaHAHA!"

He jumped on the goon, making faces and spitting on him. I was roughly pulled close to his side as he leaned over Batman with his knife, about to carve a smile into Bruce's masked face.

I was knocked from his side as a gun was pulled to his head, a man dressed in all black standing behind him.

The Joker let out a disgruntled growl. "Could you please just give me a _minute_?"

He was pushed to the floor. Gordon stood over him, gun ready to shoot.

"We got you, you son of a bitch."

* * *

I was led away from them, dazed as hell. I was _free_. I could go _home_. I couldn't help it. I started to cry. Tears smeared the black paint that was still caked around my eyes. Damn it! What was it with me and crying these past few weeks?

Gordon carried me to the GPD vehicle and sat me by the tires while a medic looked me over.

Harvey walked over to crouch beside me, Gordon following close behind.

I gaped at Gordon. "I thought you were dead."

He shook his head. "Had to protect my family."

"Smart," I grinned.

Harvey got straight to the point. The man who I'd thought hated me was now asking me questions about my well-being. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

"No. I'm fine. Shaky, but fine." I decided not to tell them that the Joker had, in fact, saved me. By using his body as a human shield, I hadn't hurt myself when the truck flipped.

Gordon drove me to the street name I gave him, and I walked home. I still didn't trust the coppers with my address.

I couldn't help the small smile that crept across my face. I was finally going to see my dad. I was going _home_.


	12. Chapter 12

**Hey guys! Thanks so much for reviewing! I may add in the questioning in the next chapter, let me know if you'd like to read it! Keep reviewing, I love getting support while I'm writing. :)**

Chapter 12

"Dad?" My voice trembled as I unlocked the door and shoved it open. I was greeted by the familiar smells of cigar smoke, musky dog, and even the odor of microwavable dinners coming from the kitchen.

_Home._

I heard someone come barreling around the corner and caught a glimpse of a furry black and carmel colored head rounding the bend in the hallway. Forgetting all the discipline I was meant to drill into my canine, I dropped to the floor and splayed my arms out wide.

"Baby!"

Brody knocked me flat on my back and a face bath ensued. Laughing, I pushed him off when I heard a cough come from the doorway.

My father was standing by the entrance to the kitchen. Dressed in his normal leather montage, he leaned against the wall. Clad in a leather jacket, he regarded me with a cigar hanging out of his mouth. His tooth necklace dangled from a chain around his neck and his dark hair was slicked back with gel, as it usually was.

"Hey dad," I whispered.

"Kid," he breathed.

I gave him a hg, which he awkwardly returned. He immediately checked my arms and legs for scratches, along with checking my face for bruises.

"You not too hurt," he mumbled.

"No, I was checked out already by the ambulance." I decided not to tell him the real reason why I had close to no bruises on my face.

"You have dinner, kid?" His gaze raked my emaciated form as I studied his face. Worry wrinkles had embedded themselves in the creases of his eyes.

"Dad please," I snorted. "I'll get dinner started."

Instead of microwavable dinners, although there were quite a few of them hiding in the freezer, I miraculously found a couple bags of pasta which I mixed with herbs and a jar of tomato sauce.

My father was surprised as I hungrily tucked in, shoveling forkfuls of pasta down my throat. Dad refused to mention anything having to do with _him_.

"He's in jail y'know," I said between mouthfuls of food.

He stopped eating. "Ya kid. But for how long?"

I frowned and looked down. "I don't know."

* * *

I lay on my bed, I staring up at the dark ceiling. Brody had abandoned his dog bed and was now situated next to me on the mattress. Hours passed and my eyes started to droop closed.

A noise made me jolt awake. I sat straight up in bed, heart hammering in my chest, looking all around the room for a painted white face against the dark.

Nothing was there. It was our shutters banging against the windowpane.

Then why did I get excited instead of afraid? Why were there butterflies instead of knots in my stomach?

"No," I growled into my pillow. "I hate him."

But the hammering in my chest proved otherwise as I wondered just how fast he would break out of jail this time.

Grabbing onto Brody, I buried my face in the ruff of his neck.

"Bordy," I groaned. "I'm so confused!"

* * *

The Joker sat on the dirty bench in his cell, hands in his lap. Twiddling his callused thumbs, he leered at all the men in his cell, rolling his eyes at the fat one grabbing onto the bars. The fat man would come in handy, he just had to remember not to strangle him for the constant complaining.

is makeup was smeared and his body hurt all over. He hadn't planned to take the fall for Laurel. It just happened. His body reacted impulsively. The bruises that rightfully belonged to her now speckled his arms and chest under his blue office shirt and patterned green vest. His sleeves were rolled up, showing a few of the dark purple tinted splotches.

Red spots of anger clouded his vision as he wondered why he wanted to keep her safe. She's whiny, outspoken and irritable. Why is she so important? He should've just killed her early on.

He half-listened to the mayor's conversation with Gordon. He was promoting him. The Joker added in his own enthusiastic clap as everyone applauded the new Commissioner Gordon's success. Their eyes met for a split second as the Joker stared him down with a sadistic sneer.

All he had to do was wait. He'd be out soon. And among everyone else, he owed Laurel a special visit.

* * *

"Why can't I go?" I complained.

"Dangerous. Go to Sal's and stay with Isabella."

"But dad," I surprised myself with the constant whining. "The Joker took me out on dangerous assignments all the time!"

Dad's face went stone cold. "You not mention his name. Ever."

"So, I can't go?" I brushed off his obvious anger.

"No," he replied with one last look and the slam of our rickety front door.

All he was going to do was meet drug lords. If I could handle outings with the Joker, I could definitely handle that!

Grabbing Brody's collar, I harrumphed my way out of the house, slamming the same door shut. I was **not** going to Sal's. I missed him and Izzy, but I needed to vent to Bruce.

I didn't bother putting a dress on or anything. I didn't have any money for a cab, and I was most definitely not walking to Bruce's penthouse in a fancy dress.

Albert let me in. Brody trailed behind me as I walked into the kitchen.

"Master Wayne isn't home at the moment. Are you staying, Miss Laurel?"

I smiled. "Alfred. Seriously? Could we please cut out the 'miss' stuff?"

"Laurel," the old butler grinned.

"Much better," I grinned back. "So, where's Bruce?"

"Patrolling the city," Alfred frowned.

"What?" My brows furrowed in confusion. "I thought that he wouldn't have much to do now that the Joker's in jail."

Alfred shook his head. "The station needed him. That criminal is being questioned. Master Wayne is taking part in said questioning."

I tried to keep a straight face as I imagined Bruce slamming the Joker into walls and banging him around to get answers out of him. I hoped my emotions wouldn't betray me as I nonchalantly looked down to gather myself.

Bringing my gaze back up, I gave Alfred a reassuring smile. He timidly smiled back, as if he could see right through my emotional facade.

Avoiding the topic of conversation, Alfred asked, "Would you like to tuck into some grilled cheese with me and watch the telly?"

I smiled at him. "Alfred, with all the things I've had to deal with lately, that sounds perfect."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

**Hey guys. Sorry this took so long. College took over my life. And I've been nosy with a separate project, an actual novel. It's super different from this, obviously. But any fans of paranormal romance can touch base with me and read some of the excerpts here if they're interested: "a wistly wonderland . blogspot . com" (Without the spaces and quotation). **

**I'll try and update more often, especially now that I'm on winter break! Keep those reviews up! :)  
**

Alfred kept my mind occupied, asking me about Brody's training and my father's health. Al really was being sweet, even though the only thing, the only person I wanted to talk about was the Joker. But I couldn't tell Alfred that. The information could go straight to Bruce.

I didn't realize I'd fallen asleep in front of the television until I woke from the ringer on my phone. _Dad_.

"Hello?" I wiped the sleep from my eyes and hobbled to the kitchen to pour some kibble for Brody. Alfred bought a little bag of dog chow for our spontaneous visits.

"Kid, you alright? You not come home last night."

"I'm fine. Bruce's penthouse."

Dad grunted on the other line. He was obviously worried, his accent was more prominent as he rushed through his words. "You hear news? Dent in hospital. Stay at penthouse, clown loose again."

"What?" I spilled Brody's kibble, which he hungrily gobbled up off the tile floor.

"Stay safe. Keep pup with you. All times."

"Sure, dad. I may not be home for a few days. Lock all the doors. Better yet, stay with Uncle Sal."

Dad laughed nervously on the other line. "I take care of self, kid. Good care."

"Yeah, okay," I rolled my eyes. "I'll talk to you later."

* * *

I grabbed my coat and ran for the door, almost tripping on the carpet and smacking into Alfred.

"Oh, sorry!"

"Master Wayne arrived home while you were sleeping. He's in the study."

"Tell him hi for me okay? I'll be back later, I have to go visit Harvey."

"Miss Laurel…"

I gave him a stern look.

"Laurel," he corrected himself without his familiar smile. "There is other news."

I furrowed my brows in confusion, wondering why Alfred looked so sad. "Did the Joker do something to Harvey?"

Alfred subtly dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief, stowing it away in his pocket. "To Miss Dawes as well."

I blanched, holding onto Brody for balance. "Is she in the hospital too?" I could feel the tears coming. I already knew the answer.

He shook his head, taking out the damp cloth from his pocket to dab at his eyes again.I leaned against the wall, sliding into a sitting position on the soft carpet. Rachel was so nice. She was nice to everyone. And he killed her. He just killed her. I wonder if it meant anything to him. Probably not.

"How did she…?"

"Explosion." Alfred looked towards the ceiling, stalling any leftover emotion. He stowed away the embroidered fabric once again. "If you'll excuse me, Miss Laurel. Master Wayne isn't in the best of conditions right this moment."

"Of course," I managed, wiping away the extra tears that kept blurring my vision. If Bruce was shaken up, Harvey must be devastated. And he was in the hospital. Hopefully, he found out already. I won't have the heart to bring it up during a visit.I took a few moments to gather myself and left the penthouse. A mobster didn't cry. I dealt with death all the time. I have to suck it up and keep my composure. Especially if I'm going to visit Harvey, the man Rachel was most likely going to spend the rest of her life with.

* * *

The hospital was in pandemonium. A copious amount of staff members were wheeling patients out in chairs, stretchers, anything they could get their hands on. The police were there too, helping out and loading patients into buses.

"Excuse me, but what's happening?" I tapped a police officer on the shoulder and asked loudly. The only answer I received was a gentle shove in the opposite direction, the officer pushing me out of the way.

"Great," I muttered. "Thanks."

I just walked into the hospital. Nobody stopped me. I looked at the number I wrote on my hand, the ink already smudged from my sweat and previous bout of leakage. I passed a room full of nurses and a police officer. Finally, someone paid me mind.

"Miss? You shouldn't be in here. The hospital is being cleared," the officer turned to me. One nurse was grabbing a handful of folders, most likely medical references. The other, who was wearing a surgical mask, wasn't doing much of anything. She watched me, extremely observant of every motion I made.

"No problem slick, I was just on my way out," I lied. Saluting him, I faked left until he resumed his paperwork, sneaking past the window once his back was turned. The third nurse watched me go. She must not be too worried about hospital protocol. She didn't alert anyone.

I lightly opened the door, sitting next to Harvey until he woke up. It took him about ten minutes or so to come around, slightly turning his head. His entire side was covered in serious burns, his face taking the most damage.

"Laurel?" He sounded just as awful as he looked. I took care to act like everything was normal.

"Hey buddy," I smiled. "How ya feeling?"

He ignored my attempts at being friendly. "You heard. Didn't you?"

"I'm so sorry," I whispered.

"You know how it feels to lose someone that you love, all because of contact with that sociopath. You nearly lost your father." He was speaking in low rasps. "Does it ever go away?"

"The hurt?" I thought for a moment. If I ever lost dad, I would always have a hole in my heart, an empty space where he used to be. "I don't think so. But I know the anger you're feeling. That _will_ go away. Because you have to remember that you're so much better than him. Revenge isn't something that can avenge Rach, Harvey."

Whether he agreed or disagreed, he didn't say anything. He lay in his hospital bed, staring at the ceiling. We sat in silence for a bit. I didn't want to leave until they rolled him out of the room.

A gunshot caught my attention. Harvey turned to look at me. He looked genuinely frightened. I never thought I'd see him scared. Ever.

"I'll go take a look." He relaxed a little when he saw me pull out my handgun and unleash Brody. Just as I was about to yank open the door, I heard someone trying the doorknob. I jumped back when it flew open, landing in a rickety wheelchair. Before I could get up, my vision was going in and out. From a bump on the head? It took a few seconds, but once I could see clearly, I noticed a pair of handcuffs imprisoning me to the wheelchair spokes and my dog's jaw locked on a nurse's ankle.

The nurse shook him off, jabbing him a few times with the butt of a gun.

_A nurse… carrying a gun?_ At this point, I was beyond confused.

She sat down, keeping her face away from me. A muscular arm reached up to scratch at her head. That was either a bodybuilder or _clearly_ not a woman.

The nurse wasn't scratching at her head. What I thought to be a full head of red hair was actually a wig, now being pulled off to muss up short green-tinted waves. Harvey's eyes widened, any previous signs of fright quickly morphing to anger.

"Hi," the Joker uttered, biting the inside of his cheek and pressing the button that inclined Harvey's hospital bed.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

**Just letting some readers know, I am writing this story for fun and am not overly serious about it. Which means you may see some typos and such. Also, I'm mainly going off the movie version for this fic, so I'm not going to obsessively delve into wads of information on the comics. This is purely for fun and my first story. Thanks to those reviews with constructive criticism and those who truly enjoy reading it!**

"You!" I pointed at him and tried rolling the chair with my feet, but the cuffs got caught in the spokes. Brody was scratching on the door. Well, more like body slamming it. He really wanted to get in. Amidst everything, the Joker locked him out of the room. Why that man hasn't just killed my dog yet baffles me beyond belief.

The Joker ignored my pathetic attempts at moving. He was really getting into his conversation. He was holding a gun to his head with Harvey's clammy hand over it.

"Holy hell, Harvey. Shoot him!" I yelled from the corner.

Instead, Harvey held up a coin. Displaying the side for heads, he muttered, "You live…" The Joker nodded, raising his eyebrows. Harvey flipped it over, the tails side charred and ruined. "You die."

The Joker licked his lips. "Now we're talkin'."

I tried craning my head to see the outcome of the coin toss, but Harvey wouldn't hold it up. He just leered at the Joker. That's when I knew.

* * *

"Kill him anyway!" Harvey noticed me, looking at me with his lucky coin on the top of one hand and a gun in the other. "Havey!" I yelled as the Joker shut the hospital door behind him, paying both of us no mind. "Do it for Rachel!"

"She's gone!" He screamed, scaring me a little. Getting up, he pushed the hospital covers off the bed. "And we will be too if we don't get out of this damned building."

Brody whined in relief when the door opened, trotting along next to us as we made for a quick exit. I tried not to stare at any part of Harvey's face, for fear he'd think I was looking at the bad side. He dragged me along down the corridor, pushing me to the emergency exit as he took some alternate route.

"Harvey!" It shocked me how childlike I sounded, but the building was definitely going to blow up and I was scared for him.

He waved me away, running down the hallway and disappearing from my sight.

I pushed on the double doors, getting to the parking lot just as the first explosion rocked a section of the building. I shook from the rush of adrenaline coursing through my body, clutching Brody's ruff as I wondered if Harvey got out alright.

From the corner of my eye, I saw a familiar muscular figure in a nurse's outfit hobbling down the empty walkway towards a school bus, simultaneously pressing a button on some controller. He turned around, confused as to why the building wasn't blowing up as extravagantly as he imagined, and I took my chance. Running to the front of the school bus, I told the driver I was a new recruit and discreetly sat towards the middle, Brody in a tense down position under my feet. I was surprised at how he just shrugged, letting me on without a word. I pulled up my sweatshirt hood, wondering why I was even doing this. Either the danger that dad always tried protecting me from or the fact that this asshole killed Rachel and I needed to know why. Maybe I'd shoot him in the knee a few times while asking. Who knows? I was pretty pissed.

* * *

The bus motor finally started and we were on the move. I peered out the side of my hood. He sat in the very back, makeup smeared all over his face and arms folded as he stared straight up the aisle. His eyes rested on me for a second, but shifted away when I panicked and decided to look out the window until arrival.

The bus ride was relatively short, but that's because there were two stops. One for the goons and one for their boss. The bus rolled into the back lot of a very tall building and the Joker hopped out the back doors with a large duffel bag slung over one shoulder. I noticed he was wearing one of those plastic clown masks. The bus motor went off again, pulling out of the lot and stopping to turn back on the street to the goons' destination. Once stopped, I pulled the emergency exit and rolled out the door without an ounce of grace. I received a lot of yells and groans as the bus kept going and some of the men tried closing the door. Brody bounded out behind me and sat calmly as I surveyed my scrapes. He kept licking them as I held them up to the light. I laughed, giving him a pat and a big kiss on the head.

I didn't know if this was a smart idea, but I didn't really care. The Joker was out of sight and night was beginning to fall. I looked up towards the roof, thinking I saw movement. A few masked faces appeared and vanished from my sight when I jumped to get a better look. Probably just a group of his expendable employees.

I made a motion for Brody to be quiet and found a back entrance to the building. There were a lot of floors. I sighed and lightly took the first step of what appeared to be 40 flights. Brody was always a few steps ahead of me. I stopped to give him some water from my plastic bottle when we hit the 30th or so flight. Once we almost hit the last floor, Brody stopped short and cocked his head, listening to something I couldn't hear.

I watched him, frozen as his lip turned up in an almost growl. I pinched his rear and motioned again for silence. He kept the upturned lip but didn't growl, thank god.

And that's when I dropped the water bottle. Go Laurel.

Brody heard me make a noise and let out his growls, so I decided to just make an entrance. What the hell, I had no doubt in my mind he heard us anyway.

* * *

The spacious room was dark and eerie with lots of windows. He stood with a flashlight and three rottweilers, looking down at the city. He had his purple suit back on, a large trench coat completing the ensemble. I cleared my throat, ignoring Brody's puppy-like tendencies as he crept over to the other dogs and leapt on them. They were dad's, of course. He must've stolen them a while ago, when he met with my father.

"It took longer than I thought it would for you to get up those stairs."

"Yeah, well. Sorry my speed isn't up to par." I was supposed to be infuriated, shooting at him and yelling and asking why he killed Rachel Dawes. And I was just standing there, staring at him like a blithering idiot.

"You know, you're frustrating. If you knew I was there why didn't you just hint it?"

"It was funnier putting you through the uh trouble of getting here. You think putting up your hood would've made you less noticeable?" He cackled and moved from the window.

"Why did you kill Rachel?"

"You look ravishing in this light, little Chechen."

"Answer my question."

"Uhhh… no."

"Now." I pulled out a dull knife, receiving only a fit of laughter. He clutched his stomach and bent over, hysterical.

I think I surprised him when I actually threw it. The blade wedged through the purple fabric and into the skin of his shoulder. He stopped laughing and grabbed at the handle, pulling the blade out and throwing it into the wall behind me.

I didn't even flinch as he advanced. I was prepared for a fight. He pinned me against the nearest wall, holding my wrists against the plaster. I kicked him in the gut and yelled encouragement at the dogs, who were biting his heels. They may be with the Joker now, but they do remember who raised them.

He grabbed the knife embedded in the wall beside my head, raising it to my face and drawing thin lines across my cheek. I could feel the blood trickle down my face. He yelled as one of the dogs bit him in the back of the calf and I grabbed the knife, gently pushing it into his stomach. Why we weren't slicing each other up was beyond me. This probably goes down as the oddest fight I've ever been in.

I applied more force to the knife and he dropped to the floor, taking me with him. We rolled on the dirty cement until I had him pinned, knife against his throat. I don't know what came over me. I could've killed him, slit his throat and watched his blood pour across the floor. Avenged Rachel for Harvey. Ran. Instead of choosing any of those sensible options, I kissed him.

At first there was nothing but surprising gentility. His whole body tensed in shock. After a few seconds though, he kissed back. He ran his hand around my waist and pulled me into his lap as my arms wound about his neck. I made sure to kiss his scars, every inch of them. He groaned and pulled me closer, crushing his lips against mine and fisting a hand in my long hair. I surprised myself with a growl when he bit my lip, drawing blood. He pulled away the slightest bit, resting his forehead against mine. I closed my eyes and let out a breath, opening them and watching it form a small cloud in the air.

A faraway clang caught my attention. The Joker let out a loud laugh as I pushed away from him and scrambled to the wall. The clangs progressively grew closer and I called Brody over to me.

A dark figure stood in the doorway, cape billowing out behind him. The Dark Knight had arrived


End file.
